This is a work about being in a couple, secret witnessing, and the mystery of life. It is painted based on a poetic situation in which two roach fish (Rutilus rutilus) briefly appear in a forest stream. A human couple, arriving at a hidden spot, becomes a witness to an unexpected event – the spawning of the fish. This seemingly ordinary, almost imperceptible event becomes a symbolic act of continuing life, interwoven with the couple’s presence and relationship.

The motif of twos repeats like a cyclical harmony between nature and the human connection: two fish, two trees, the second day of the week, the second hour, two people. The piece speaks of mystery, of the importance of a moment, and at the same time – of enduring presence, whose trace remains even when everything seems to be over.

at 2 kilometres away

from the main trail

a private estate plate

banned to go further after all

the water of the forest is calling

in the cutting the river is sloshing

bushes grassland we are finally

here found those two trees

and who knows why in their

shadow there are two tiny roach

the second Tuesday more or less at 2

with their thrust snouts for some time

maybe  they are smelling something

later quickly dive in as if have agreed

or feel frightened we come closer

to the bank to see some tiny spawn

56,5x90x5 cm

acrylic, graphite, markers, lacquer on canvas

It is a painting accompanied by a poetic situation exploring quiet resistance to emotion. It captures a fleeting moment when a person tries to remain in control – pretending not to be drifting into sleep, denying the glint of a tear in the eye. The gaze turns to the side, cheeks are faintly flushed – subtle bodily cues that reveal what the words try to hide.

Alongside the painting, a short dialogue emerged – half inner monologue, half imagined conversation. It speaks of a sorrow we don’t want to admit, a compassion we are ashamed to show. A lonely apple seller with sad eyes. We feel his heaviness, but we don’t dare say it. So we buy all the apples – just to avoid looking into those eyes again with hope those eyes will brighten up.

The work may appear abstract at first, but the essence lies not in what is seen, but in what is withheld. It’s about the vulnerability we try to hide – even as it inevitably surfaces. Even when we say: I wasn’t sleeping. I didn’t cry.

– what was your dream?
– when
– now
– I wasn’t sleeping
– why did you twitch then?
– I thought about something
with closed eyes: the trees
with forever entwined roots
until they dry out sucking
each other’s sap
– like nuts?
– like gnats

– is that why you cried?
– I didn’t cry
but was so sorry for those sad eyes
of a lonely apple seller
I saw passing by
with a red bag…
– like your cheeks?
– …on his laps
he says a kilo I say
ok I take it all
for not to see
his eyes again

50×70×2 cm

acrylic, graphte, lacquer on canvas

This artwork is made of two canvases and unfolds in the blurred space between wakefulness and dreaming. Riding public transport, the narrator begins to doze off, so the line between reality and hallucination begins to dissolve. A red umbrella becomes a bird’s beak, the sound of station announcements turns into the snake’s breath, and time itself slips.

“On the Other Side” captures this surreal threshold: confusion, instinct, interruption. The painting is paired with a poetic monologue, evoking a fevered sensory state where dream logic overrides the ordinary. By the time he wakes – it’s already too late. The stop is gone. He’s on the other side of the river.

out of the four gates

arises thunder

trembling ground quivers cabbage

carrots beans I had at lunch

a wave of dust and angst

worried voices

next… Šeimyniškių* snake

stinging toe

body frozen

cannot run or strike

a bloodstained beak

pinches her Neptune blue

wings

beating fast a sound

of awful movement hissing

ššššilas bridge*…

leaping up I kick

a red umbrella pardon pardon

excuse me missed

my stop I am

on the other side of river now

* – bus stop

50×70×2 + 18×13×2 cm

acrylic, graphite, lacquer on 2 canvases

In few words – this could be a short story of a life of a man as a father and his journey to our Father. Here how it is:

today I remembered my father
and his picture of Joseph
don’t know if he liked travelling
as driving with Styopa his friend when
he arrived at our place when we
weren’t there yet left the mountains
with snakes bay leaves khinkali stayed
with us to drink more simple wine
some kind of beer the longing
he did not succeed to swallow ever

we drove with ambulance and
ZIL truck my first time driving down
the street curve Krantine’s street
right by the river where steamboats
sailed Vilnius Riga Tallin Neris
waved briefly cheering us up

in winter ice for sliding down
he didn’t like me laughing
falling down he laughed himself
eyes wet like mine’s now
I remember smell of Pervalka
we went to sea and jumped through waves
and jellyfish and shells we gathered
I collected stamps and boxes
as he did toy cars his pride was Volga

we left for Fabijoniškės he
went to Gabriškės with Volvo
and Nijolė stayed far from us
until the very end until the Father
came and forever took him
home to teach some balance
as on a slackline

Whole artwork is combined of two canvases (50 x 70 cm + 18 × 13 cm) and a text on a white cardboard (14,8 x 21 cm)

Sold

stars spinning around

the trees and the tent

bonfire flames growing

upwards with legs

twisting and shoes

kicking a basket of mushrooms

silenced inside the mouth

word-endings scatter

a hundred seas rumble in my head

somebody hits a drum in the distance

or is it the wind only nestling

between the pines of the forest

a salty taste in my throat

scratching the kettle’s bottom

why in the seven hells  were there

fly agaric in my soup?

61×86 cm

sold

This piece is a poetic elegy about the flow of rivers and the unexpected events that occur within them. It captures the fragility of nature, where water is both a path of life and a stage for unexpected interventions of humankind.

Drawing lines and bold strokes of paint merge with the texture of the paper, mimicking the chaotic journey of a fish caught in a current. The composition is intentionally fragmented to emphasize the fish’s loss, the slashes of a sword, the river’s pull. The color palette evokes an underwater world: vegetation, sediment, flashes of light.

The visually fragmented fish is not only a symbolic motif but also a question: how do we define what we consider whole?
The work recalls a folk song or myth in which half a fish drifts downstream, unaware of where the other half has suddenly gone just as we sometimes have no answer to where some parts of ourselves disappear.

as in that song where from
Šašvė to Nevėžis and coiling
further up to Nemunas in to
the distance or something
like it through stones
with green wavy mane to
the rhythm of god’s eternal
song the rivers flow

this dance of waters
is irresistible to many
species fish and clams
crayfish and larvae meet
in search for longer life
in muddy darkness

glistening blade soughs
in the air sunbeam flashes
through a creek and flies
towards forest a gust of wind
sliding through surface
carries downstream
splashes with ripples
shouts and sweat drops

who could have thought where
that poor roach fish would swim
when cut in half by training
warrior with his sword in river
up to chest swiftly wavering
and hacking water

not knowing what will happen
with one or other side of it
the fish swam to the sea
and there got in a plastic bag
which soon got caught
into a fishing net the catch
surprised the fisherman
so much he even cursed

61×86×2 cm

acrylic, spray paint, graphite, markers lacquer on paper

2 cm white wooden frame

such calm morning!

sun glistens the dew

on grass tips in the meadow

grazing horses

take heed upon hearing

woodpecker’s breakfast.

heads tilted down

they lick fresh shrubs

these youngsters, you know

only care about frolics and snickering

chasing each other

prodding, bouncing

without seeing fog fall down

on the meadow. More fun playing

can barely see anything

morning prayers of birds

in the distance

faraway fisherman’s radio

nibbling of the grass

a sudden cold breeze

brings the smell of fur…

61×86 cm

dunes crunching sand shaking simmering

after a soft breeze pops dry

cracking stone bursts in flames

a bush rolls down scattering ember

every living thing burrows deeper praying

for a drop of water strength or eternal

peace with parched blazing heart

beating ever more quickly

until the ground starts shaking

and bones beneath it hot rocks sand

it becomes obvious that it’s not a heart

not the earth that is beating but sky

Tlaloc* slashes clouds pierces

lightning under his feet trampling

black of crying he screams with a hundred

voices angry at his wife again

being booted out to think and get some

fresh air to calm down like the time he

was only joking and daunted just a little

why isn’t she getting his jokes?

*god of rain

61×86 cm

sold

This abstract painting is accompanied by a poetic narrative, almost like a myth, in which the forest, a human, and an animal meet in an unexpected moment. It is a story about the cycles of pain and healing, the mysterious logic of nature, and the thin line between danger and acceptance.

The painting’s visual texture mirrors the rhythm of the narrative: the green of moss, the brown of trees, and expressive layers of violence. What begins with pain ends in a strange pleasure: the snake’s soul is reborn in the human’s most faithful companion.

he’s slowly strolling with a basket. humming a tune, beard with a fume.
sunbeams gently stroking mushroom caps, cropped stems bobbing.

she’s slithering over wet moss. brushing along her tingling abdomen trough branches and roots. the fierce snake.

a shoe slips on the crawler. the basket trembles, a few parasol mushrooms fall out one of their gamps roll down into blueberry bushes

a loud ‘what the hell!’ echoes through the branches. woodpecker hushes, trills a swift.
he crouches to pick up the mushroom. something moves between his fingers

a sudden pain shoots up his arm. a snake!
pulled out a blade that hung upon his belt, thrust into the blueberry bush, blood colored the moss.

pinched his wound, clenching his teeth, forgot the mushrooms, hurried back home.
snake’s soul rose from the bloods, above the tree trunks, through the branches chased a squirrel, a ladybug, a butterfly, a fly that flew into the human’s house.

in it, a bitch is pregnant, the litter’s not going to be large: two greyish brown and one green eyed black pup. he was chosen by the soul of snake, to be reborn as man’s best friend.

The man returned back home with bloody arm. that night it swell, he violently retched
but survived and slowly he got better. after a month, he felt like new.

the dog whelped three puppies. two, the man took to the woods, buried under a pine-tree
as a sacrifice to Indraja. but one he kept for himself – black like the night, eyes green as a forest.

61×86×2 cm

acrylic, spray paint, graphite, lacquer on paper

2 cm white wooden frame

I had this dog a very good boy

with his beady eyes smiling

with this cute little face

eating vomit and licking

everyone’s cheeks ears

snuggled up tightly

and we slept together

me her and him

and another dog I had

one more angry with strangers

prone to conflict but goood

appetite just feed him

a big dinner

then snuggled up tightly

and we slept together

me her and him

61×86 cm

sold